How many errors can one person make? Enough, it seems, to fill a poetry book (And poetry is also a mistake). Oh gentle reader, open it and look; A gallery of girls Cat used to be, Expressing plainly, though in janky verse, Their hope, confusion and insouciancy; Embarrassments all giving way to worse; Stories of hiking, or plastic surgery Or office jobs, or of this frightful dress She wore when she was twenty; Sympathy And ridicule and even ruthlessness Towards her past. What does she have to lose, As long as you find something you can use?